


First Snow

by OnMyShore



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Early Mornings, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:22:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27286384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnMyShore/pseuds/OnMyShore
Summary: It's the first snowfall in David and Patrick’s new home (unfortunately).
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 8
Kudos: 89





	First Snow

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the snow I woke up to the day before Halloween. Love that journey for me.

There are plenty of things David loves about the cottage he shares with Patrick, and he’s not ashamed to admit that more than a few are aesthetic. He is who he is, after all, and while he likes to think that marriage has helped him grow into a deeper, more mature person (most days), he’s always going to be someone who places a certain value on appearance, and that’s just the way it’s going to have to be.

That, and he’s only been married for a couple of months - plenty of time for growth and maturity further down the road.

In any case, the first thing he had ever noticed about the cottage was that it was cute. It was cute in a way that had always been sort of abstract to him before - the kind of cute it wouldn’t have occurred to him to want for himself because he had never considered that it might exist in real life. But then he and Patrick had stumbled upon it by chance while they were out on a vendor run, and David had said it was cute while Patrick looked at him with fond eyes, and as they drove away David had thought,  _ I could live there. _

Now, he does live there, in his cute cottage, with his cute husband, and it’s all very quaint and cozy and domestic - all the things that had never been available to him before. It’s a quiet life, compared to what he might have pictured for himself once, but he’s come to learn that “quiet” isn’t necessarily the same as “boring.” In this case, “quiet” means a chance to step away from the chaos in his past, and the people who contributed to it. Quiet is his marriage, and his business, and his family, and his home, all of which he loves, and none of which is ever, ever boring.

Speaking of aesthetics, though, one of the things that David has very much been looking forward to is seeing their cozy little cottage all covered in snow. They hadn’t closed on the house until mid-October, and the fall was mostly over by the time they actually started to move in, leaving precious little time to enjoy the season. (Patrick might point to the eight bags of leaves he raked up that first weekend and say otherwise, but then again, it would probably be inaccurate to say he “enjoyed” it, so perhaps the point still stands.)

Winter was fast approaching now, and despite all the seasonal downsides (the cold, the dark, the endless holiday cheer being constantly shoved in your face), the one thing David knows for sure is that their little cottage is going to look perfect in the snow. He imagines it like a postcard, but not in a cheesy way, like the prints you might find in the waiting room of the local dentist. It will be pristine in all its snow-covered glory, with the light from the windows creating little pockets of warmth in the cold winter night. David can picture it clearly in his head without even having to close his eyes.

So when he wakes up on a chilly Monday morning to see the soft white flakes fluttering against a lead grey sky, he feels a little thrill of excitement at the first snowfall in their new home. David has always been neutral-to-negative on the snow (he doesn’t care for the cold, and his shoes don’t care for the slush) but for today he can make an exception. The store is closed on Mondays, so they have nowhere to be. Maybe David can convince Patrick to stay in bed with him all morning, huddled under the blankets with their coffee and tea while they watch the snow fall from the windows above the headboard.

Patrick is actually still asleep, which is a rare occurrence. He normally sleeps on his back, but he’s rolled over onto his side sometime in the night so that he’s facing David now, the comforter pulled up to his chin. It’s colder than normal in the bedroom, which must be what woke David up in the first place, because he can tell without looking at the clock that it’s earlier than he’d like. Still, he steels himself before slipping out of bed, sliding his feet into his Uggs and pulling up the covers on his side so Patrick doesn’t get cold. He wants to get a look at their yard, all silent and lovely and white, like a snow globe.

David’s breath catches when he looks outside, but not for the reasons he’s expecting. Instead of the clean, perfect blanket of snow he was picturing, the backyard is covered in an anemic dusting of white, with scrubby patches of long-dead grass poking through the snow. There’s a half-circle of mud surrounding the one tree in the corner of the yard still stubbornly hanging onto enough of its leaves to prevent any snow from touching the ground at all. The rest of the trees stretch their bare branches up to the sky, but they have hardly any snow on them at all and mostly just look wet. It’s so anticlimactic that it literally takes his breath away.

He doesn’t hear Patrick get up and so he startles slightly when he feels his arms go around his waist. “Guess they were right about the snow,” he murmurs against David’s shoulder, voice rough with sleep.

David hums. “If we can call it that.”

“Oh? Are we calling it something else?”

“I would call it a disappointment.”

Patrick laughs softly. “Has the snow disappointed you?”

David shrugs, which is a little awkward with Patrick plastered to his back. “I was just hoping for something a little bit more picturesque than... _ this.” _ He makes a vague gesture towards the barren wasteland on the other side of the glass.

Patrick laughs again, soft as the first one. “Ah. I see.”

David finally twists to look over his shoulder at his husband, who’s looking at him instead of out the window. “Do you see, or are you just making fun of me?”

Patrick’s smile gives him away. “Why would I be making fun of you, David?”

“A question I ask myself every day.”

Patrick huffs a laugh into his shoulder. “No, not making fun of you. I just didn’t realize you had such strong opinions on the snow.”

David sniffs. “I have strong opinions on everything else, why should the snow be any different?”

“You’re right, my mistake.” Patrick’s definitely teasing him now, but David doesn’t miss the warmth in his voice.  _ Laughing with you, not at you,  _ Patrick was fond of saying in the beginning, and that phrase had always seemed like such complete and total  _ horseshit _ until David had actually experienced it for himself. Now, when he hears that tone, he feels something bloom bright in his chest, lighting him up from the inside. It’s almost enough now to make him forget what a letdown the day has already turned out to be.

“You weren’t hoping to wake up to a nicer view than this?” David presses on, and now it’s Patrick’s turn to shrug.

“I’m pretty happy with the view i woke up to, actually,” he says, and David rolls his eyes even though he feels that warmth in his chest again. “And it’s only the first snowfall of the season. If this morning didn’t live up to expectations, the good news is that we’re going to get plenty of chances for a do-over this winter.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me, I’m already having nightmares about using the shovel.” David pauses, and then - even though he knows it’s a little bit silly - he adds, “But it’s the first snow in our new house.”

“I know.” Patrick drops a kiss onto his shoulder. “But with all the rain we had over the weekend, the ground is probably still too warm for it to really cover anything. I bet it’s not even sticking to the roads at all.”

“Which would be convenient if we were planning to leave the house.”

“I’ll take you out to breakfast.”

Now there’s an idea. “What time is it?”

“A little after 7, I think.”

David groans. “Unacceptable. The day is ruined. I’m going back to bed, and you’re coming with me.”

“Am I?” Patrick says, but he’s already tugging David away from the window and back towards the tangle of sheets, where he intends to stay for the rest of the cold, grey morning.


End file.
